


while I'm standing right here

by Niel_Ellington



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niel_Ellington/pseuds/Niel_Ellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t know anything.<br/>You never did, I say.<br/>All you have to do is let go. I won't let you fall.<br/>After all, I'm a part of you, you see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	while I'm standing right here

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, no beta, so if somebody is willing to help, you are very welcome!

You walk into the room, and there’s nothing.

Not a smell.

Not a sound.

Just blink, and then, suddenly, there’s somebody.

Or not.

Fake, I say. Your imagination only.

You look out of the window, and there’s light. Why is there so much light? Turn it off, put it out.

Come here, I say.

Please. Please.

You jerk away from the window, and you scream, but it’s dark, dark again, finally, and it’s silent, empty, nobody but you.

You’re on the floor. The lights are out, but they’ve always been, and it’s just a stupid shop with its stupid window dressings. There’s a rug here, and in a few hours you will probably have carpet burns on your hands, because you just had to go and fall face-down scared of an idiotic shop. Brilliant, really, very clever of you.

There will be burns, right? Because the rug is real.

I don’t know, I say.

You don’t know anything.

You never did, I say.

If you look out the window, a little bit to the right, you’ll see the air-conditioner and the sparks from where it gets power. Every child knows that when you look at the lamp or the air-conditioner or anything, really, that depends on electricity, you can see the way power gets inside and the way it goes back. You shouldn’t touch that spot, or something bad will happen. Children never know what, but never risk finding out.

You grow up, and you forget it, naturally.

Let’s try it, I say.

If you stand on the window-sill, you can touch the air-conditioner just right, just there. Yet, you should be careful, it’s slippery.

One wrong move and you’re down.

Try it, I say. Go on.

You get up — the surroundings are a bit dizzy, but it’s nothing serious, it’s not like you’re not used to feeling slightly uncomfortable — you get up and examine the window. True, it’s slippery and wet, the remnants of evening’s rain. You can manage, though.

Come on.

In an instant you’re much more worried than before. You’re not sure now that you want to give it a try. After all, fears usually have a reason to exist.

Don’t be a kid, I say.

You’re still not sure.

Have I given you a single bad advice yet?

No.

Trust me, I say.

You don’t know who I am.

I am your friend, I say. Come on, give me your hand.

You can do this.

You step on the chair and then on the table and then, at last, atop the window-sill. Holding on is hard, everything is too wet, and why was the window open when it started to rain? Why didn’t anyone close it?

Because I asked not to, I say.

What for?

Because the air is crisp like this, I say.

Oh. Okay.

You’re standing on the sill holding onto the frame. All you have to do is reach out and touch. But for that you need to let go.

Don’t be afraid, I say.

You can’t. You will fall.

You won’t, I say. Take my hand. Just before you take a step, let go and hold onto me.

You look me in the eye and ask if I will let you fall.

Trust me.

Count up to three. Simple as that.

One, I say.

The plastic creaks under you when you shift your feet. It’s too bad modern windows are so fragile. You will need to think of something more reliable.

Two.

You watch the air-conditioner. The sparks are still there, but they don’t frighten you anymore. You trust me, just like I asked you to. Good.

This damn plastic starts to crack open under your weight. You stand still, just like I asked you to. You will not fall, not when I’m holding your hand.

But suddenly your fingers are squeezing empty air, which is very crisp, by the way, and you try to grasp something, anything, as the frame slowly slips free of your fingers.

Trust me, I say.

And you do.

.

.

.

Three.


End file.
